rebellion. it’s a challenging thing. it’s a necessary thing. the occasional rebellion is just as necessary as the usual one. the small rebellion is just as necessary as the big one. but it’s the small rebellions, it seems, that bewitch the spirit unto somatic… no, HOLISTIC… ecstasy.
though a stack of books cried for connection,
and a clinical paper begged for completion…
i indulged a small rebellion.
rather than sit in my office… at my desk… surrounded by all of the objects and subjects that are such an integral part of my daily life… i went into my kitchen… and cooked up a tempest.
roasted whole chicken with herbes de provence. potato and onion wedges with fresh lavender buds. cracked black pepper, fleur de sel, and generous swirls of extra virgin olive oil over everything. orzo with homemade tomato sauce, basil, garlic, and yes… more extra virgin olive oil. fresh garden salad with raspberry walnut vinaigrette.
and though it is not winter,
but sparkling summer,
while i cooked,
i indulged in one of my favorite drinks…
one tablespoon of valrhona cocoa powder.
two dollops of belgian candi.
one cup of piping hot full cream milk
(yes. full cream. nothing else will do).
one wild carousel ride with the spoon.
one small respite (patience is bliss)…
while a delicate skin formed at the top of the brew.
one sprinkling of cayenne pepper.
one pinch of sel gris de guérande.
one large plunge into the lap of luxury.
these were my humble… and heady… pleasures for today!
i was at a used bookstore, browsing the shelves in the mental health section, my hands caressing the names of the authors imprinted on the spines. satir. and perls. and lowen. and the voice of norah jones entered my consciousness. and the music seeped through my flesh. and... in the face of self-consciousness... and social propriety... my body rocked. rocked. rocked. at the mercy of nothing but the virgin drive of its own voice.
my inner critic tried to divert me from my flow. and my inner judge called me 'silly.' but my joy knew joy. and what can step in the way of that? what, i ask?
i did not allow those voices. there was no place for them. there was only room for movement. euphoria. and trance. there was only room for self inside a world of limitless dimensions. there was only room for body. and breath. and bones.